


Sugarrich

by Anonymous



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Brainwashing, Extremely Underage, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Shota, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 05:57:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20253271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Jerome had mocked him at first and said he was a degenerate for supposedly picking out a child bride, but Jerome didn’t understand the concept of love and care and tenderness and loyalty and responsibility. Jeremiah and Bruce shared an intimate connection that no one else could understand.





	Sugarrich

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this drabble for a friend some time ago and I decided to throw it on here because the Gotham archive is suffering from a lack of extremely problematic fic.

Jerome had mocked him at first and said he was a degenerate for supposedly picking out a child bride, but Jerome didn’t understand the concept of love and care and tenderness and loyalty and responsibility. Jeremiah and Bruce shared an intimate connection that no one else could understand.

Admittedly, some of that might have been manufactured from the enchantment, but it still existed and some of it was from primal instinct. There wasn’t any way to get away from that. Bruce was Jeremiah’s soulmate. He just happened to be a little young.

“Ten years too young, you freak,” Jerome laughed, leaning in close to twirl his fingers around Bruce’s soft, dark curls. Bruce looked up at him with blank, glazed eyes, blinking slowly.

“You really did a number on him, didn’t you?” Jerome’s voice dropped, low and hungry as he tugged on Bruce’s hair, inhaling the boy’s scent, mouth half an inch away from Bruce’s neck. Jeremiah felt a stab of anger and jealousy and he scowled, tightening his grip on Bruce’s arm. He had to maintain the upmost restraint whenever he touched Bruce—the skin was delicate and easily bruised with a mortal man’s touch, let alone an undead’s. Jeremiah knew there was going to be a handprint on him underneath the buttoned sleeve.

“He’s not yours to touch,” Jeremiah said, gently pulling Bruce into himself, one hand on Bruce’s arm and the other on his shoulder. Bruce smiled at him, reaching up to hug Jeremiah’s arm. Jeremiah’s still heart fluttered. “And if you do, I’ll split you at the seams.”

“You’ve done it plenty before,” Jerome said dismissively, still focused entirely on Bruce. “You’re a little darling, aren’t you?” he murmured, stroking his finger over the soft angle of Bruce’s jaw. “Yes you are.”

Bruce made a tiny noise of discontentment, clutching tighter at Jeremiah and eyeing Jerome in mistrust. Jerome giggled and patted his cheek before stepping back.

“I don’t think you’ve done anything this stupid in your entire life,” Jerome told Jeremiah, looking gleeful. “Isn’t that the Waynes’ little boy? Did you really think through the idea of stealing away the heir to Gotham’s throne wouldn’t get you in trouble?”

“I orchestrated this with total precision,” Jeremiah snapped. “I don’t bother to leave so much collateral whenever I decide I need to take something that’s mine. You should never assume I’m as careless or bullheaded as you. I’m more gifted in the mind than you are. As far as the Waynes know, they’ve never had children.”

“Whatever you say, dear. This had better not come back to bite me, too. I can be as idiotic and too, ah, nontraditional and a bit too insane as you want me to be, but never once will you catch me screwing around with a kid.” Jerome tapped Bruce on the nose with one finger and Bruce sniffed, shaking his head and clutching at Jeremiah’s jacket.

Jeremiah’s lip curled. “Well, I hope that gives you a little bit of moral leverage. I’m sure it cancels out all the young girls you’ve forced your way into.”

“Devil’s in the details,” Jerome dismissed. “At least they _knew_ they weren’t consenting. I have an honest conscious, brother, and you do not. Besides. . .” He stroked Bruce’s cheek. “How does he keep you interested enough for you to love him? You’ll get bored. I know you will. You can’t play games with a braindead baby.”

“Whether I get bored or not isn’t any of your business.” Jeremiah took Bruce’s hand, threading their fingers together and kissing Bruce’s knuckles. Bruce made a tiny, pleased noise, nuzzling against Jeremiah’s sleeve. “And I won’t, by the way. You just don’t desire anything more than my unhappiness.”

“You’re a paranoid little bitch,” Jerome scoffed. “I know you, Miah. I know you’ll get sick of him. You’ll get sick, you’ll drain him, you’ll rip him open, and then I’ll have to deal with itty-bitty boy bits all over our bedroom.”

“Every word out of your mouth just seems like a poor pronunciation of the word ‘projection’.” Jeremiah released Bruce’s hand so he could pick him up instead, cradling the boy in his arms. Bruce immediately threw his arms around Jeremiah’s neck, snuggling into him. “You can keep being jealous as long as you want, but I have to say, it’s not very attractive.”

Jerome simply laughed and turned, heading back towards the desk at the corner of the drawing room. “If I wanted to kidnap some rich sap’s little boy and molest him, I would simply take him. All I’m saying is that you’re playing with fire. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to orchestrate a jailbreak. . .”

Jerome continued to speak, but Jeremiah tuned it out. He was too fascinated with the steady rhythm of Bruce’s heartbeat, the loveliest sort of song Jeremiah had heard in centuries.

* * *

It wasn’t about Bruce’s body. It wasn’t how young he was and how malleable he was. Jeremiah didn’t care about it. He cared about Bruce’s perfect face and grabbing hands and pink mouth and his warmth and dependency and affection.

And he cared about the blood.

The blood of children, trapped in newer, fresher, more fragile bodies that offered none of their own protection from the coldness of the outside world, was the sweetest, purest, and cleanest. Jeremiah couldn’t really remember the taste of food anymore, but he likened the blood to candy. Sugary and rich and indulgent, like what European chocolate was supposed to taste like. Bruce was a shining apple in the middle of the Garden of Eden. 

Jeremiah was helpless but to sink his teeth in.

He kissed the underside of Bruce’s jaw, shuddering and exhaling, breath that he didn’t need to hold escaping from him. His fingers fit into the soft lines and indentations along Bruce’s body, bare skin radiating heat that Jeremiah wanted to wrap himself in forever. Bruce clutched at him, making needy, kittenish sounds. Jeremiah could feel delicate fingertips pressing into his back.

“You’re so sweet, aren’t you?” Jeremiah murmured, his fingers ticking lightly up Bruce’s side, catching his ribs. Bruce giggled, flushing pink and giving a shake of his head. “You are. I know you are.”

“Do you like how I taste?” Bruce whispered, shiny and hopeful, waiting for Jeremiah’s praise with baited breath.

“I _love_ how you taste.” Jeremiah ran his tongue along the column of Bruce’s throat, feeling a hit of arousal so fierce he was almost dizzy, the borrowed blood in his body rushing too quickly. It was tempting, too tempting with the sound and feeling of Bruce’s fluttering pulse point under the tip of his tongue.

“Please, Jeremiah,” Bruce said, high-pitched and shaky, his tongue lolling over his bottom lip, his eyes so dark Jeremiah could only see thin rings of green around the black pupils. His cock, hard and twitching, leaked onto his stomach. He wanted to be touched so badly, the enchantment curling its tendrils around his body and making him ache for Jeremiah’s mouth and teeth and fingers and cock, spreading his legs for him. Jeremiah wanted to feast on him. “I-I want you to taste.”

“I will.” And oh, God, Jeremiah would. He thought about being cruel for a fleeting moment, taking Bruce as he was without any preparation, so, so tight and hot, but he wanted Bruce to love this just as much. It would all come in time. (Figuratively; literally.) He kissed Bruce on the lips, licking his mouth, stroking the side of his finger along Bruce’s cock before pulling away. “Lay down for me and open your legs.”

As Bruce did as he was told, delightfully eager and obedient, Jeremiah took a much-abused bottle of slick from the bedside table and wet his fingers with it. Bruce watched with an adorable desperation, panting softly, squeezing his hand around his cock.

“Patience, dear one,” Jeremiah breathed out, kissing Bruce’s knee. He slipped down further, settling onto his stomach and slipping his fingers over Bruce’s hole, teasing it. Bruce’s hips twitched and Jeremiah could hear the quickened heartbeat. He slid one finger inside, working it in slowly as he kissed the base of Bruce’s cock, loving and tender.

The first time they had done this, when Bruce lost his virginity, it was in Thomas’s office and Thomas had been in a meeting during a half-day at Bruce’s private school and he’d asked Jeremiah to watch the boy for an hour or so. And Jeremiah had. He’d learned that Bruce liked science and old movies and superheroes and he was _adorable_ and excitable and he was endlessly sweet when he smiled. He was even sweeter when he’d cut his finger on a tape dispenser, trying to reattach looseleaf paper in his sketchbook, and Jeremiah had gotten to suck the red bead off the sliver of open skin. It just might have been enough to drive Jeremiah slightly insane. He’d pulled Bruce into his lap, kissed his beautiful neck, and stroked him through the shorts that belonged to his school uniform, making him squirm and whimper and kick. Bruce had cried and shuddered and made tiny, soft protests when Jeremiah bent him over the desk, spreading his legs and getting him ready. After Jeremiah had come inside him, dizzy on the smell of Bruce’s rushing blood and the sound of his pumping heart, Bruce had broken down, very upset and crying just a bit too much for it to be comfortable. It had made Jeremiah feel miserable, so he had to enchant him then and there. Thomas and Martha were infected later, just as soon as Jeremiah could get to them.

Now everything was safe. Bruce felt safe. He felt happy. And so did Jeremiah.

And now Bruce was eagerly riding Jeremiah’s fingers, begging to be fucked, his tiny, mouthwatering body burning with the desire of it. “ Please ,” Bruce begged,  tears beading at the corners of his eyes, saliva dripping off the tip of his tongue. “Jeremiah, please, touch me more, bite me.”

“I will. I know what’s best for you.” Jeremiah shakily stroked Bruce’s hair with his free hand, kissing the side of his face, nuzzling him. He pulled his fingers out of Bruce’s gaping hole, already fairly loose. Bruce was wet and ready to be bred. He made a better girl for Jeremiah than any woman ever could.

Jeremiah slicked himself up before he gently rolled Bruce onto his stomach, pushing a pillow underneath him. Bruce shivered and parted himself further, his fingernails digging into the flesh of his ass and showing off his pink, open hole. Presenting himself.

“You’re such a good boy.” Jeremiah’s voice was altered, hungry in a way that he could barely recognize in a tone coming from himself. “Such a good boy.” He curled his fingers around his cock, pressing the head of it into Bruce, moving slowly. Bruce made a soft noise, hand reaching out to grab a fistful of the sheets above his head.

Whenever Jeremiah was fully inside Bruce, it was indescribable. The heat and the tightness and the clenching around him was almost enough for him to fall apart instantly. And he always had to force himself to maintain careful control so he wouldn’t shatter Bruce’s bones. It was a pleasure intense enough that it was nearly pain from restraint and sensory overload. And the  _noises_ Bruce made, the gasps and moans and cries and pleading, made it so much worse. Jeremiah was an evil creature, indulging in something perverted enough to secure him a place in Hell, but his existence had probably damned him there from the start anyway. It couldn’t get much worse than that. So he would let himself indulge, fucking Bruce hard enough to make them both see stars.

When Bruce was chanting his name like a litany, working his hole around Jeremiah’s cock, fingers scrambling on top of the sheets or between his legs so his tiny cock could spill the little bit of come his premature body could allow, it was enough to justify it all. Nothing could be better than that. It made Hell seem like a worthy cause. Like Jeremiah needed to fight to get in and he’d be angry if he didn’t.

The only thing better than that was flipping Bruce back over and sinking fangs into the boy’s thigh, drawing thick threads of blood that Jeremiah could gorge himself on.

A lot of people were very concerned about going to Hell. Jeremiah had been taking lives and making sweet, violent love to his brother for decades before Bruce came along. Jeremiah deserved a place there. He had for about two centuries.

As he gave Bruce a tender, sopping, dark red kiss, sucking on his tongue and feeling how loose and sloppy Bruce’s hole was, Jeremiah welcomed Hell with bright eyes and open arms.


End file.
